


taste your skin in my teeth

by x (ordinary)



Series: savages fit for a wasteland [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angry Sex, Biting, But Seriously REALLY ANGRY, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghouls, Hair-pulling, Masochism, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexy Cruelty, Struggle Play, The non-con/rape tag is just bc of struggle play fyi, Violent Sex, but they chill, sin.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicia isn't really that great at being the Sole Survivor. Honestly, she’s not even <i>good</i> at it. (Minus the whole killing thing. She's pretty okay at that.)</p><p>Fortunately, Hancock likes her anyway.</p><p><b>Or:</b> the one where Hancock and the Sole Survivor reflect on her past, think about her future, and have incredibly affectionate and extremely violent sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cherry bomb

Felicia dropped her plasma rifle with a satisfied sigh, patting its still-hot barrel with no small amount of affection. “Good boy,” she crooned, reloading the cartridge with reverent hands. It was a good gun, the Scrawling Star. The best she’d found so far. The dirtbag raider carrying it had not died in vain. How he’d even  _gotten_ the thing to begin with was beyond her, but she was thankful. Coming across a good plasma weapon these days was a complete oddity, and they were her absolute favorite.

They were _beautiful_ , a perfect marriage of form and function. Two worlds-- technological and tactical-- collided to create something ruthlessly efficient. Even in the days before the war, Felicia respected them as the deliverers of justice and of destruction, something dangerous bent to the will of man. That was something she could respect. The same was true for any gun, really. She knew that there was an implicit acceptance of responsibility as soon as one came into your hands, but out in the wastelands, that seemed like such a small thing to trifle over.

Everyone was trying to kill everybody. Why should she feel bad for doing the job first, with something more precise than a simple bullet in a chamber? Shotguns could blow people to smithereens, but they couldn't reduce them to ashes, to dust. 

But that was only part of it. Felicia looked down at the metal in her palms, tracing the planes of it with a modicum of sadness. They were beautiful, but more than that, they were were relics of a bygone era.  _Her_ era. Back then, technological advances had been so unabashed in their own wanton indulgences. Now, any scrap that still worked was something to be treasured instead of passively taken for granted. A working pipboy and working guns were more coveted than purified water and food without radiation.

They were things out of time, and Felicia included herself in that assumption, too. How could she do anything but collect it all as best she could? 

And so: her weapon stash grew until it rivaled small armories, walls lined with all of her favorites and a few of John's. In another warehouse, she dressed mannequin after mannequin with more apparel than a department store, ready to grab for any occasion, be it battle or casual. In Hangman's Alley, she stored a chem collection so vast that not even her and Hancock on a two day bender could make a dent in it. All around Boston, she stashed no less than six full sets of power armor, just waiting for a core.

Sometimes it felt like she was readying for a reckoning. Supplies hidden away, emergency caches all over, collecting favors and people like baseball cards, ready to send her best up to bat in case of all hell breaking loose. It was like bunkering down like she should have, before.

Felicia sighed, staring out to the horizon. Leftovers found in blown out buildings and hidden trunks long forgotten and sealed in old vaults: these were the hidden cornucopias of progress reduced to stagnation, scavenged remains of a civilization advanced enough to go into outer space. It seemed paltry in comparison to the paradise it had been before, because it  _was_. 

Paltry or not, though, they were all she had left to preserve the better days. Armor, weapons, Mr. Handy units, and the occasional terminal: that's all that was left. Felicia wanted them all for herself.

(Not including Synths. As fascinating as they were, they were  _new_ , and any self-aware advanced models weren't eager to be pried apart and examined so that a woman from the past could see they way they worked. She opted not to take it personally.)

And...Maybe that _all_ extended beyond the strictly useful.

Hancock judged her a little for it, but Felicia collected anything and everything from the pre-war days. Didn't matter if it was a toaster or a burnt magazine: she got it all. If it didn’t end up being scrapped for the sake of settlementsthen she tucked it away into an old storage room. Or two. Or three. Okay,  _maybe_  she didn't need everything she'd picked up, but could anyone really blame her? When she thought too much about how much the world at large had lost, it filled her with despair. It was a personal kind of anguish, one shared between her and the older ghouls-- and half of  _them_  had gone feral.

Sure, there were those that wanted to preserve technology, but it wasn't the same, not with how they refused to unless it was in the ways they approved of. Felicia knew she couldn’t compete with the whole god damned Brotherhood of Steel but she could do her part: deconstruct things from the days  _before_ the bombs to help the days  _after_  them, and store the rest, good or bad be damned.

Fuck anyone that wanted her to do otherwise.

 


	2. tag you're it

The jet wore off, but she still stared with unfocused eyes at the deathclaw corpse at her feet, nonplussed rather than overjoyed, even as adrenaline still pumped through her veins, sharp and beautiful. Blood splattered her armor-- Hancock had landed the killing blow, this time. It took a sharp nudge to her side to bring Felicia back to reality with a start, where she found a curious looking Hancock. “Ey, so you  _are_  in there. Lost you for a few.” 

For a few seconds, she blinked owlishly at him from behind thick glasses, struggling to find any words at all. “Yeah,” she breathed, “careful, or I'll drag you back through the looking glass myself." Felicia nudged him back, metal plating of her gauntlet brushing against his. "Which is fancy talk for don’t  _poke_  me again, guy. You’ve got sharp elbows right now.” 

“Yes _ma’am_.” Hancock tipped his hat, deliberately jilted and stiff in mock acknowledgement. What a mistake it had been, to let him keep that fucking tricorne. She'd drawn the line at the full regalia, not out of any attempt at misguided fashion authority, but because she had to burn at least a  _dozen_ stims on him in the first few hours out in the wastelands. She dragged him back to Red Rocket to force him into some  _real_  armor, promising to keep his getup safe for his return trips to Goodneighbor.

Felicia blew a raspberry and holstered her gun, grimly rubbing at all the new red on her clothes that would inevitably stain. “Don’t call me  _ma’am_ , you bratty son of a bitch. Aren’t you supposed to respect your elders' wishes?”

Hancock just laughed and threw an arm over her shoulder as they made their way back towards Cambridge, their steps falling into line together, dusty boots against a dusty road. He shrugged, feigning helpless. “Hey, whatever you say, Leesha. Far be it from  _me_  to question the reasoning of my killbuddy with benefits.”

Something in her snapped back into place like elastic, and Felicia knew that Hancock knew what he was doing, when he ribbed her like this, returning a sense of normalcy to her when all of it seemed to abandon her.

Felicia appreciated it, more than she could really say. She'd just have to show him.

"I'll show  _you_  a killbuddy with benefits," she crowed, tackling him to the ground with a shrieking laugh. Felicia was a wild hyena in nature if not in nurture, not caring two caps that they were both decked out full armor and out in the open. Hancock hit the ground with a dull thud, wheezing as it knocked the air out of it. She straddled his waist without blinking, because they were many things but _nice_ generally wasn't one of them. She leaned back on her heels, admiring her captive audience on the uneven asphalt, and took a second to just _look_ at him, unable to hide her impish grin. Hancock's hands slid up her thighs to rest on bony hips, and through her layers of clothing she could feel the ghost of his reverent touch. 

"Sorry," Hancock said with a smirk, and didn't mean it at all. 

"Liar," Felicia said, her own smile just as wide.

She ducked low to kiss him not-so-sweetly, the taste of Jet and copper heavy on their tongues, and reveled in  _him._ In laughter shared, equally wild and ready to raise hell. In scarred lips to scarred lips, hers from acid and his from radiation. In the metal and musk on his skin. In the acrid taste of gun-smoke that lingered after battle. It was starting to feel like home, that taste, one kept by her side on demand. It was  _hers_. She had an _appreciation_ for Hancock, and that’s all she could give. Felicia didn’t love things-- or people, or animals. Admiration was all she could give.

(Sometimes, she wondered if that would be enough.)

Hancock viciously bit at her lower lip, and all Felicia did was sigh into his mouth and arch into him, her fingers dragging down his neck, eagerly trying to exhume from him his most secret of desires. She wanted so much more than what they could have out here in the open, but she would not beg. She hadn't since the day of her wedding (I don't want this, I can't do this), and had no intention of repeating the act ever again.

So, instead, Felicia dragged teeth along the sinew of his neck, the inherent danger of it more of a promise than a threat. She bit down too-sharp, her adoration pulsing to the staccato beat of his heart, fluttering in his jugular beneath her teeth.

Tangling gloved fingers into her hair, Hancock pulled her off with a snarl, wild-eyed and starving. Half-feral, he lunged up towards her until she was close enough to consume. He sealed his lips to hers and licked into her mouth, and all of him was too warm, driving her into a fever pitch. He held her face too-tight, sure to leave bruises on her jaw, points of pressure dotted like stars in the night against Felicia's skin. She scrabbled to touch him as best she could, fingers scratching at the base of his skull, winding around his wrists like vices.

Touch-starved and greedy: this was their anthem. Felicia couldn't be happier for it. 

When they parted, Felicia sighed a shuddering exhale, and from her newly-split lip trickled a line of red. Hancock propped himself up on his elbows, leaning up to lick it away with a grin. A moment frozen in time, captured like lightning in a bottle as Felicia found herself charmed all over again, a litany in her mind singing of her fondness.

Pleased, disheveled, and still covered head to toe with deathclaw blood, Felicia stood. Birds didn't sing, not anymore, but her pipboy crooned classical tunes in a near-replacement. Felicia stretched a hand out to Hancock, pulling him up with one easy yank. He stooped to collect his waylaid hat, tugging it back into place with determination.

 Under the Boston sun, the spit slick bruises high on his neck shone brightly in purple against his reddened and pocked skin. They were fading already, and Felicia found herself wishing that they'd stay just a little longer.

" _Damn_ ," Hancock rasped, stretching to crack his back. "Thought we’d die out here on the streets--  _pop-pop_ , picked off while we’re getting our rocks off.” 

“Oh my god, Hancock,  _no_. That’s  _terrible_.” Felicia kicked him with a steel-toed boot, prompting a wicked laugh from her companion. "What have I said about rhyming? C’mon, let’s race to the garage. You remember the one? With my TI-51 suit that I let you wear?” Scarred lips twisted into a smile, genuine.

Hancock hooked an arm around her waist, tugging her closer with ease. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. But what’s in it for me?” he asked, nosing along the junction of her jaw and neck, not quite ready to grant her reprieve. Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch, her cheeks still rosy and aglow.

“Now  _you’re_  the one fishing for compliments. But fine: I’ll bite. When you were finishing that deathclaw while I took down that mutating ghoul, all I could think about all I wanted to do was fuck you. Want to let me deliver?” Felicia raised an eyebrow behind her glasses.  _Your move_. 

"Hmmm," Hancock said, feigning hesitation even as she felt the warmth of his erection against her thigh. "Maybe. You gonna tell me what's got you outta sorts?" It wasn't the first time he'd tried to glimpse beneath the thin veneer of humanity she projected, but... Maybe this time.

Sliding her hand to his, Felicia started to drag him in the right direction. "Maybe... If you can beat me."

"You're  _on_."

Their walk turned to a run as soon as they separated, ducking and weaving past cars and jumping off of fire escapes. Felicia's laugh rang out through ruined skyscrapers and worn out cul-de-sac houses. They soon changed to heaving pants as she pushed herself with burning lungs to go just a little faster, a little further. Her hat slipped off and was left abandoned in the pursuit of  _winning,_ forgotten on the tarmac. She heard Hancock just behind her, keeping pace save for when they split up in attempts to best each other through shortcuts and cheap tactics. 

Along the way, a party of raiders made the mistake of crossing their paths. With a knowing glance, shared mischief and fury wrapped up into one ball of like-minded justice, they came to an unspoken agreement. From on high, Hancock crouched to pop the heads off of two raiders in rapid succession, while Felicia jumped down from the roof to break a man's leg as he tried to crawl to safety, firing a blast directly into his skull without mercy. She launched two Molotovs at the the retreating parties, their screams swiftly fading into nothing. The satisfying heat from the flames warmed Felicia's face, crackling over skin.

Two beats of reprieve: one to look for survivors and the other to take the loot from the fallen and then they were off again, more giddy than before. 

Felicia crossed over the thresh-hold of the garage with a wheeze, collapsing at the feet of the power armor. Hancock followed in right behind her, swearing.

“Can’t,” she panted, “beat  _me_. I’m the.  _Best_.” Felicia rolled over onto her back, throwing her hand over her face, ineffectually waving her hand at him. “Losers get to shut. The door behind. Their slow asses.” She was going to catch her breath soon.  _Any second now._

Grunting, Hancock slammed a fist over the button. Felicia grinned.


	3. he chased me (and he wouldn't stop)

In the cool of the garage, door shut safely behind them, they relaxed. This area was clear of raiders, but no survivors had settled in nearby yet. Perfect for what Felicia had in mind. She crooked at finger at Hancock, beckoning him to her like ghoul to a barrel of nuclear waste, euphoric and still exhausted from the run.

He was too, from the way he was panting, and dropped to the floor next to her, cradling her head in his lap. In a quiet sort of ritual, Hancock removed his hat and then the gloves. Felicia always thought he looked so much more vulnerable without it, and wiggled in place to watch him bare himself to her, like a cat that had gotten both the canary and the cream. He reached for her gloves next with hands devout, a worshiper at the altar of his goddess in his tenderness.

But she was no goddess and he was no follower, so Felicia tugged them away afterwards, lazily working at the clasps that held her chestplate on.

“I know I didn't win,” he murmured, pulling his arm guards off next, "but I was serious, you know. If anything is bothering you, fuck, I won't judge. You've listened to me run my mouth, and all that." He started in on his own leather cuirass, eager but steady. Felicia had reawakened a hunger in him, but she was not his first love, nor would she be his last. He could be patient.

"Why do you think there's a thing?” She pushed her chestplate off, sending it clattering to the ground next to her, sitting up a little to shove away the back of it. Stripped layers, invulnerability fading to mortality. Felicia was human, despite all her attempts to be more-than. 

“Pffft. Don't give me that bull. You’ve been spacing out a lot, lately. Unless you've been taking too many _hits_ in battle?” His face was easygoing, but in those cloudy eyes was an intent: piece by piece, Hancock was going to pull back the shroud behind one Felicia Shepherd, and she wasn't sure how to react to being in the light.

So, instead, she raised an eyebrow and unbuttoned the jacket of her army fatigues, and reveled in how his eyes stayed with hers, intent. “I,” she said, primly, “ _resemble_  that remark.”

Hancock laughed, raspy and a little bit warm. It sent an unexpected bolt of warmth through her chest. Felicia oscillated between being enamored and wanting to devour him at a dizzying speed, so fast that she wasn't even sure if she could differentiate them.

"Not an answer, Leesha." Off came his coat, the shirt following, and it revealed a familiar expanse of scarred skin that was nothing to her but glorious. She wasn't attracted to Hancock because of his ghoulish appearance, but neither was she attracted to him in spite of it. 

Hancock just...was, funny and fierce and easygoing. He was a junkie for chems and more so for adrenaline. He wanted to do the right thing, more than he let on. He believed in retribution and kindness in a single breath. To Felicia he was illogical and impossible, but she was  _fond_  and so she  _tried_. 

And right now, he was waiting. Felicia looked at the cracked cement, suddenly awkward.

Felicia knew she didn’t have to talk, she never did. He wouldn't push her if she said no, but he wasn't going to take her evasive shit like everyone else in the wasteland.

Part of it was because he was willing to _listen_ , really listen, and not expect anything more out of her besides the truth. It was hard to find, not surprisingly. No one really wanted to hear about  _her_  struggles: by now, she was an icon, not a person. Every time she paused to breathe, they wanted more from her. Get this, save them, defeat that. Piece by piece, they expected Felicia to pull out her organs and offer them to the altar of heroism.

She refused the sacrifice, tossing the blade away rather than carving out the parts of her that made her who she was. She would not be complicit in her own disassembling, not for a crowd. Not for anyone but him.

I've just been thinking, again," Felicia said, finally, filling the silence in the air with hesitant words. She reminded herself that while Kindness was easy to find, Kindness without expectations was harder-- but here Kindness sat, next to her in a stale garage in Boston, two hundred years too late. "About how much has changed."

Hancock carded fingers through her messy hair, sweat-slick and pressed against her forehead, bare fingers rough against her skin. "Shit's pretty different," he agreed. "I know it means a lot to you. All that shit you have stored sort of speaks for itself. I mean, Dogmeat got lost in one for an entire day, you know."

Felicia swatted him in the arm. "I'm being serious here, you shit. I mean, yes I do know that, Codsworth was pretty upset-- but. Okay. I  _know_  it’s been a few hundred years. It’s unmistakable. I travel with a ghoul and I’m wearing rusted tin can armor and the food I eat is irradiated. I fight super mutants on a daily basis. The best establishment in town is in the shitty baseball stadium. We walk through ruins and it's desolation instead of bustling. I  _know_."

She turned, burying his face into his hip, huffing. "But when we get into that _rhythm,_  shoot, kill, loot, collect, repeat-- I _forget_ because it feels  _amazing_. The days that we're at it so long we just crash at some cleared out raider camp, exhausted and weary down to the marrow. It feels so much more  _real_  than my whole life before. I feel like someone rather than something, a furnishing in a house that isn't even mine." Felicia tapped her fingers against the concrete, listening to its dull taps of her impatience. "And then, right when I’m finally getting used to how it is, getting good at it-- I just. Remember how it was, in sharp clarity."

Hancock sighed, and in it was a pity Felicia didn't want, a pity that she refused to accept. She twined her fingers in his, and it was not a comforting hold. A sharp, unrelenting squeeze:  _This is your warning_.  _Don’t ask about what you don’t want to hear about_.  

But of course, he did. 

“And how's that?” Hancock drawled, gripping her back just as tight. His other hand came to rest at her throat, squeezing just tight enough to cut off her air supply. And of all things: this was not the thread, not between them. Felicia tilted her head up to look into Hancock’s cloudy eyes, her thirst from earlier not yet quenched. He was Kindness but he knew the language that Felicia understood, violence written into skin and carved into bone, and that he could deliver with no great sacrifice.

“God. _Fine_. If you really want to know, it's not about the world itself. Not really. Sure, I find a certain terminal and read a log and realize, hey I was here this day, buying paint for our garage. Remembering the days that hey, I was here, getting a drink. I applied for a job here, back in the day. I have that discordance within me-- but that's expected. Normal. That’s something I can cope with."

Felicia sat up, crossing her arms with hunched shoulders. "But I was  _married_ , John. I had a  _child_.” Hancock opened his mouth to speak, but she held a hand up to stop him. “No, wait. Listen to me. Note the word _had_. Note the word  _husband_. Note what you know about me. Note the tone of my speech." She smiled, tight. "There were certain _expectations_ of women then, then, you see. About what a woman should do and how a woman should act and what goals a woman should achieve.”

She bared her teeth like an animal, something feral loosed from a cage, finally set free from her five by five cage. The wasteland was her element. 

When Hancock's brows knitted, and it was easy to forget, sometimes, that he was a new ghoul, rather than one that had been around before the bomb. "Like what?" he asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I know  _some_  shit. But you clearly have a bone to pick, maybe a whole fucking skeleton, so spit it out. I wanna hear it. Your side of it, I mean."

Her hackles lowered. There was no one left, really, to judge her for what she chose to do now. It was all ingrained resentment, self-contained and outdated. These days, man or woman, you could become a raider. These days, man or woman, you could hold a job and own a shop besides a seamstress' joint or a diner. These days, man or woman, you could make a difference. 

You could do whatever the _fuck_ you wanted, as long as you were ready for the consequences, and maybe fight about them.

"Those are for men, they said, as I put together computers from spare parts. Find a nice guy instead, they said, as I ran circles around every other programmer my age in the tri-state area. Get married, they said, as I finished school two years early, but not before I fought tooth and fucking nail for the right." Felicia clenched her jaw, her voice getting louder, echoing in the small space of the garage. Hancock didn't flinch. "Have a  _kid_ , they said, on the day of my marriage to some Nice Guy, just like they wanted. I did this because I didn't have any other _options_. Not really. No one would hire me for the positions I was qualified for. I was better than an assistant. I was better than some two-bit secretary. I could have been the _best_ but they wouldn't let me. Not with how things were. And you know what I thought, on my wedding day, walking my way up the aisle? 'This feels like death.'"

She laughed, embittered, spreading her hands out in front of her. "I used to wish, so hard, on everything passing comet and falling meteorite that they would somehow disappear and leave me in fucking peace. All I wanted was to be  _free,_ and hey, guess I got what I asked for, right?"

Three months passed, and the memories of her husband and child were already faded like newspaper print left in the sun. What was frightening was how little she cared, beyond vengeance. She felt  _little_ bad, that Nate was dead, that her kid was gone. But they’d never really been  _her_ choices to make, had they? It was like watching someone else's dog be taken away by animal services, like watching one be put down for his foolish act of protection.

Hancock laid a hand on her arm, tracing it with rugged fingertips down to her wrist, circling them there. "Fuck _that_. You're still the best, you know? Maybe not at programming like you wanted, but there's no one in the Commonwealth that doesn't want your help or your head. Sounds like that's pretty accomplished to me. And-- listen, I'm not going to judge you. You did what you had to do to survive, although I admit I'm pretty selfish when it comes to you." He stroked her scarred cheek with one hand, and did not brush away any tears, for there were none. "You didn't do that shit to them, did you? So why do you feel guilty?"

"I don't." Felicia leaned into him, eyes heavy lidded. "I never loved them, Hancock. They were mine but I didn't have a  _choice_. When then the bombs came down, and they packed us into a vault. They told us the cryo pods were for cleansing, and froze us like a bunch of popsicles." She paused. "Do...you guys even have those anymore? Whatever. All of us were in such a hurry that we didn't question it, because the fallout was coming. They loaded us up one by one until we were all in place. I was by myself, but Nate had our son in the pod with him. And then we slept, for all those years."

Felicia looked at Hancock, placid. He looked riveted, and a little sad. She kissed him and he returned it, a chaste thing of understanding more than heat. "When someone thawed us out, I realized that we were the only ones left, out of the hundred some people that had gotten the treatment. The _only_  fucking ones, either due to malfunction or abduction. I saw their last one, still trapped in my pod. They took Shaun, prying him out of Nate's dead hands, because he was too stupid to let him go.”

Hancock let out a low whistle. "Rough. Even if you didn't-- love them, as you said." He still seemed unsure about her utter absence of affection, which made sense, when he saw so much of it from her. "What's so bad with wanting something for yourself, when you're trapped in a shitty situation? You know my story. Different story same tune, and all that jazz. And I know you've been looking for him. I _do_ pay attention when you're talking to the common folk and shit."

“Rough is perhaps appropriate. It's not something rending me in two. Listen, when we’re out and about, I’m always chasing leads as they come up. But there's a whole fucking world out there, and for whatever reason, they all want some vault-bound housewife‘s help. So I do both, and that way I can hit two birds with one stone, because I don't believe for a fucking second that a whole vault would by taken one by one by some two bit thug. I want to know who's  _responsible._  And when I find them, I fully intend to make them pay. You know by now that I believe in eye for for an entire goddamned head. _Retribution_ will be had, at my hand.”

"Damn. You had all this rattling around in there this whole time, and you didn't think to say something? Why didn't you say anything? Not something you have to carry alone, you know." 

"I didn't always travel with you, Hancock, and you'd be surprised at how few people want to know the full scoop behind a _mystery_. Even the questions I got from Piper were pretty bland, more shock value for her rag than anything. Why would anyone care about what I used to be, rather than the sheer force of nature that I am now? Puh-lease. I didn't tell you this shit because I wanted your pity, John."

“Then what did you want?” Hancock's hand stilled, pulling away from her hair.

“We’re....” Felicia waved a hand, ineffectual, lost. She chewed on her lip, worrying at the scar. It wasn’t often that she looked nervous, but she did now. "So you deserved to know, now that we're. You know." The words were delicate on her tongue, halting. "So I don't  _want_ anything. You asked, I told. That's it."

He leaned back, humming low in his throat. “And that’s it? Because we’re fucking, you finally decided to open up? Doesn't make much sense to me, but hey. _You're_ the brains around here."

“No," Felicia insisted, jabbing him in the ribs with two bony fingers. "Because we’re  _friends_ , first, you holly jolly necrotic idiot. I don’t have many of them. Not ones I can trust.” She huffed, pulling away, wound up. This had been a bad idea, she should have just kept her distance, let him do the talking because any time she did, it was a shitshow and an unintentional tragedy. Hancock stopped her, holding her narrow jaw in his palms and pulling her back, a meteorite pulled into his gravitational field. Felicia yielded, tilting her face up into the fluorescent light, more naked and exposed from his gaze than any manner of undress.

He looked at her with an intensity most grievous, and in these moments it was so much easier to forget her disfigured face. Not because he was a ghoul, but because in his eyes there was nothing but admiration. It was a good reminder that the wasteland itself didn’t care about such things: scars just meant she was good at surviving. And wasn’t that the truth?

“And?” he prompted, the gravel in his voice as hypnotic as it had been the first day in Goodneighbor. (She still remembered: the tenor in his voice as he murmured pleasantries with a knife behind his back. The easy swagger in his step as he approached Finn, confident and easy as you please. The way he stabbed him in rapid succession right in front of her for insulting a guest. She’d been entranced from the start.)

“What more do you  _want_?" she snapped, a collared beast kept docile by her handler's touch. "I've told you it all, now. There's nothing left but an empty echo that you don't want to hear."

Hancock held her steady, pressing his forehead to hers. "If you don't feel love, then. Why have you been the robin hood of the Commonwealth? Helping the poor and doing good? Why, when murder doesn't upset you, do you avoid it when it'd be convenient?"  _Why are you being good_.

Felicia put her hands on his, dry and warm and huge. “Doing good things has never been my default. I am self-serving and selfish. I think I robbed you the first day I came to Goodneighbor. And both the shops. And about everyone, actually. I've done things _way more things_  that you hate, but I-- stopped. Which you've noticed." She huffed. "I do them because  _you’d_  prefer it, not because it’s the way my moral compass tugs me. My conscience is questionable at best, busted at worse."

Biting her lip, Felicia slid her arms around his neck, eyes heavy-lidded. "I’d rather be under no other influence but yours, John. That's why. I leave my fate in your hands. Speaking in a morally relativistic sense, anyway.”

Hancock let out a long, long exhale. “Man. If I was an idiot, I’d say that I don’t believe you, that you’ve got to have  _something_  warm and gooey down in the center there. But I know you, you know. I'm not an idiot, I can watch the way you weigh your choices. You're not so sneaky as you think, if you think you've been pulling the wool over my eyes. My shit went missing when a new girl was in town? Obvious. Ballsy, but obvious." He kissed her, just the ghosting of his lips against hers, his voice gone gravel and husky. "As long as you keep doing the right thing-- that has to count for something, doesn’t it? Does to me, at any rate. Can't change what you did, but intent doesn't matter nearly as much as results, and we've had good ones.”

(Felicia filed the results over intent idea away, already thinking of ways to justify her actions. She was a creature of habit, if nothing else.)

"So, yeah. Maybe you didn't love your husband. What do I care? You're here with me, now, in sound mind and judgment. Maybe you don't want your kid-- but you're still trying to find him. And when we do, you've got a half dozen towns scattered all over that are  _safe_ , and would be glad to take an anklebiter in. Jesus, woman. You made me think something was seriously wrong, instead of you just having a crisis of conscience about not having a conscience."

Felicia laughed in her unbridled hyena way, tension broken because of course it was, because Hancock might think she was the best thing he'd ever had-- but the feeling was mutual.

 


	4. took the words (right out my mouth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY: porn
> 
> and it's
> 
> uhm
> 
> WELL mind the tags

In this was a tragedy: love for the loveless, immortal for the mortal. But Felicia found herself optimistic rather than downtrodden, smiling up at him, coiled and waiting like a cobra. Her fingers explored the pocked marks along his abs and chest, the texture now familiar beneath her hands. She wouldn't have it any other way, and rearranged herself to rest in his lap, grinding down against him with a rock of her hips.

Hancock growled, the noise goading her into another voracious kiss, all teeth and no sweetness. It was a power trip for them both, live and sparking like an exposed wire, a bomb all its own detonating, a signal to cross the lines they drew for themselves in the vicinity of polite company. Felicia was hungry for his control, and hungrier still to guide it to her liking. Hancock wanted to devour her, secrets and heart alike.

This could be accommodated.

She raked nails up his back in lines, digging in too deep to be anything but cruel, biting down on his shoulder hard enough to make him bleed, hellcat trapped in the body of a crane. In return she got a huge hand tangled in her wild hair, jerking her back with a sharp violence that sent her into a laughing fit with eyes wild, knees gripping his sides too-tight.

"Come on," she coaxed, because now it was her turn to goad, to tease, to entice him into more, more, more. They had stims. She wanted him to wreck her. "I know you can do better than that. Do we need to get the psycho out?"

His scarred lips were a dark slash of displeasure on Hancock's face. In his veins were the first signs of a storm, clouding overhead to block out the sky. Felicia thought him beautiful.

"Well, alright then, sister. You wanna play that way, then we can _play_." He shifted his grip to hold the hair at the base of her skull, standing in a fluid line to drag her kicking and screaming across the garage. He did so with a single arm, muscles flexing as he did. Felicia snarled in fury, clawing at his wrist and hand, but he would not yield. He rummaged around in the cabinet, ignoring her struggles.

Felicia finally found purchase against the slippery cement, rising just enough so that she could twist in his grip without the pain n her scalp going a step past searing, hand grasping at his half-hard length with a grip too tight. 

Hancock growled deep in his chest, raising a foot to kick at her chest with no attempt at holding back, letting go of her hair in the process. "Just remember that you asked for this, babe," he crooned, sweet and slow, encroaching on her with the most precious of commodities for the type of games they liked to play: zip ties.

Snarling and spitting like a yao guai, Felicia scrabbled backwards till her back hit the wall, lip curled. She was the feral one, here, seeking reality in an overload, craving the pain and harsh edges to remind herself that she was alive-- and for the pure fun of it. With unbridled joy and anger alike, Felicia raised her head to gaze at him, haughty, her whole body tense and ready to bolt. She refused to bare her neck to him, no matter how she desired for him to use it as a fresh canvas for his affections.

She lunged past him with a sudden move, but not fast enough to escape the hand on her arm, so tight that she knew bruises would bloom within the hour, and let out a resentful moan. Holding the ties in his teeth, Hancock slid his hand down to her bony wrist. Felicia elbowed him and tried to yank away, but he moved fast enough to snag the errant hand without breaking a sweat. Her heart beat in her throat, excitement crackling in her chest.  _Give me more. What's next._

Hancock pressed a sweet, condescending kiss to her temple as he grasped both of her wrists in a single hand, binding them together with a zip tie. And then a second, just to be sure. With careless disregard for her safety, he shoved her away, and  _hard_ , enough that Felicia toppled to the ground with no easy way to break her fall, laughing as her head cracked against the pavement, belly to the ground and furious. Howling, Felicia glared up at him, dizzy and in pain, a steady thrum of arousal tingling through her whole body. Her underwear was soaked all the way through, and she rubbed her thighs together in anticipation.

He knelt at her side, eyes dark with the promise of violence, and grabbed her hair again, sighing contentedly. "There's a good girl. Can't grab at me anymore, huh? Think twice before you kick a man in the balls, Leesha. Ghoul or not, they're still _sensitive._ Have a heart." Hancock yanked her up until she was on her knees, stretching to avoid the pain, her whole body vibrating. He took a moment to admire her, because like this, she could not turn away.

Felicia knew what he saw. Small breasts and too thin. Bony in the wrist and ankles and the hip. Sharp in the jaw, scarred in the face and scattered in other places from the acid accident so long ago. Average, nothing, inferior, halfway to starveling cat-- but. Even in these moments of charged animosity, where they pushed and shoved and pushed again, Hancock gazed at her and saw something more, unrepentant in his desire.

She hardly knew how to deal with it. Licking her lips, cheeks flush and a trickle of blood sliding down her temple, Felicia cocked her head, lazy smirk spreading on her lips. "Not my fault you didn't dodge," she crooned, another giggle rising up from her belly. Hancock ducked low, holding her hair just-so that if she moved it would end poorly for her, and tilted her head back to an almost painful angle, iron in his grasp. He bared the pale column of her throat (finally, finally) and grinned, all teeth. Hancock delivered unto it sucking kisses, deliberately and sticky-slow like syrup. The sweet-pain coaxed from Felicia a moan most divine, the breaking of a dam, and she _wanted him_ , but he was taking his time. He was tender in a way that flared annoyance in her belly, but then, was that not his intended goal? 

"You know the best part about knowing someone's buttons?" he asked, casual, and dropped her, straddling her narrow waist and sitting on her with all of his solid weight. She saw a hint of his erection in his boxers and bit her lip, wishing it was close enough to crane her neck towards and _lick_ , but no. 

He wouldn't be so kind.

"Wow, way to pay attention. Appreciate the compliment though, you sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself." Hancock slapped her cheek lightly, pulling back just in time to evade Felicia's snapping teeth. "As I was saying. The best part about knowing your buttons, Leesha, is that not only do I know how to get you off- but I know the surefire ways to piss you off, too." He took full advantage of it as he ran his hands along her smooth skin, gentle as could be, barely there feather-light touches that left her pining for his nails.

"Hancock," she snapped, squirming on the floor, arms tensing as she tried to yank her hands apart. "Come  _on_."

He put a hand on her chest, holding her there as he slid off of her and sat by her side, gnarled fingers sliding down her front till they rubbed against worn cotton. "Oh, is this what you want?" he asked, feigning shock. "You want it like this, right?" Hancock slid a finger along the outline of her lips, teasing her clit, just enough to make her breath hitch, enough to make her whine.

" _No_." Felicia kicked her feet against the ground, on the verge of a tantrum,  and rolled herself onto her side, looking up at Hancock with indignant eyes. She propped her chin up on his thigh, leaving as many hints as she allowed herself, needing but too proud to ask, shaking as Hancock's ministrations took a turn for the harsh. He rubbed too hard, making the fabric chafe against her, all the while watching her with mild amusement, as if she were a toy to be played with, a mare to be exercised. Felicia arched her hips into the touch, seeking the friction, Hancock's touch slipping into an unreliable rhythm-- fast and then slow, slow and then slow again-- and it was sending her into a fit. "Fuck you, Hancock. You  _know better._ It's _not what I want_."

It wasn't begging, but it might as well have been, because he knew the signs, the hissed words belied by the quiver in her arms, the clenching of her jaw. Felicia was so close to completion and yet she couldn't go over the edge, not without what she needed.

Hancock was a ghoul, but he was no monster.

Moving her underwear aside, he plunged two fingers into her pussy, working them in too-fast, sliding in a third with barely a moment passed. Felicia's body snapped to attention and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as he thumbed her clit. He released her hair and she fell back onto her knees, balanced precarious and refusing to slip from her position. "There's a girl," he murmured, groping at her chest with no care at all, twisting her nipple with a quick flick of the wrist, careless. Felicia keened high in the back of her throat, sagging in place, tremors shaking her frame. Hancock slapped her breasts, one then the other, hard enough to leave white outlined by red on her skin, pleased. 

She pushed her chest forward, insistent for more, and how could Hancock deny her? He ducked his head to suck at one nipple, rolling it between his teeth and then just holding it there, glancing up at her with a wicked curve to his lips. Pulling his fingers out of her cunt, he pulled back and  _slapped_  it, sparing no force. 

"Oh _shit_ \--" Felicia screamed with a start, whole body jumping away-- and tugging at her captive nipple in the process, dual starbursts of pain forming behind her eyes, the quavering of her body peaking in a climax so sweet and sharp around the edges, like kissing broken glass.

Hancock let her slump forward again with a satisfied snicker, and patted her rump like she were livestock. 

"There's a girl," he said, easy. "Now that you're done being selfish, Leesha, how about you return the favor?" Hancock positioned himself in front of her, boxers pushed down to his thighs, his leaking cock ready for the taking. "Well, you don't really get a choice, do you? It's up to me."

Felicia huffed a laugh, still lazy and content from her orgasm, grinning lazy. "C'mon, then, killer. Show me what you got."

 


	5. tired of being careful

Felicia's body ached in sweet misery. With knees bruised and scraped, head throbbing, nipples still stinging, her senses honed in on him alone, a creature of need. Hancock hurt her in the ways she craved and he wasn't done yet. Far from it. She kneeled again at his behest, forced into place by scarred hands a leering gaze, her eyes captivated by the hint of tongue running over teeth. Her heart jumped into her throat, paralyzed by his perfection, overwhelmed by devotion.

She would burn the world, if he asked, and maybe it was for the best that he never would.

Hancock pressed his scarred length against her scarred cheek-- always the funny guy, Hancock-- smearing precum just below her cheekbone. Felicia remained still in defiance, eyes narrowing but remaining silent. "What, got nothing to say?" he asked, a laugh rising out of him, mirthful and a little bit mean. "Guess I won't even get to use my 'put it to better use' line, then. Always ruining my plans, babe." 

Felicia sneered, and kept her jaw tightly shut, heart running wild beneath the ivory of her ribs. Soon, soon. Soon, it would be enough. He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Hancock's hand shot out to curl around her neck, a dry pressure that grew steadily tighter: a noose around her neck borne out of love. "Come on," he coaxed, "open up." There were going to be bruises, more of them, to go with the ones on her tender jaw, and as her vision turned dim around the edges, she opened her mouth in a soundless gasp.

Without a moment of hesitation, Hancock filled her mouth with the head of his cock, pressing in too far immediately. He was  _thick_ , and Felicia choked around it, tears falling unbidden. Hancock wiped one away with the pad of his thumb, a moment of discordant domesticity-- and promptly cupped her face, fingers aligned so that she couldn't bite down, even if she wanted to.

"Be good," he warned, his voice stern, "or I'll keep you from biting with extra fingers in your mouth  _around_ my cock. You _really_ wouldn't like that." Hancock chuckled and canted his hips forward, forcing his cock down Felicia's without sympathy, her bound hands clenched tight. She couldn't  _breathe_ and still he pushed, inch by agonizing inch. Felicia choked wetly, chest heaving, tongue struggling to do anything besides flutter against the underside of his cock, her throat a cocksleeve for his pleasure more than anything else.

Hancock bottomed out with a contented groan. "Tight as always," he murmured, letting go of her jaw to caress her throat with feather-light touches, reveling in how it convulsed around him, pleasure rocking through him in steady waves. Slapping her cheek lightly, he smirked. "Best use for a girl like you, huh? Big bad survivor reduced to being my sex toy. For a _ghoul_. Tsk tsk. What would the good people of Diamond City think? Think they'd still revere you?" 

The words didn't have an affect on her, so far as their meaning went: she proudly brought him everywhere and if anyone said anything untoward she ensured they paid in their own time, with their blood or their money, pick one. But the curling smoke in his voice, rumbling deep in his chest and the proclamation of  _possession_ sent Felicia into shuddering pleasure. She gurgled around Hancock's dick, lips stretched tight around the base of it, nose pressed to scarred skin. He was too deep, and even trying to breathe through her nose did nothing. Felicia choked, knowing that she  her life was in  his hands, the trust in him explicit.

She trusted no one else like she did Hancock.

He pulled out in one fell swoop, a string of saliva still connecting his cock to her lips as she gasped for breath, head dropping as she panted, oxygen flooding back to her burning lungs, coughing sharply. She knew they weren't done, not yet, but Felicia needed _time_ to recover, but too soon Hancock yanked her back up, cocking his head.

"Not tired yet, I hope. Still got a lot of work to do before we're done." He laughed, swiping drool off Felicia's chin with his thumb, before slapping her face with his cock again. This time, he bottomed out immediately, setting a brutal rhythm. Hancock didn't thrust, but instead dragged her to his liking, a hole to be used no matter how much she screamed, muffled around him. Tears sprung anew, and she blanked out, the world at large fading into white noise, eyes staring up at him hazed with lust and wanton admiration, too deep to be anything but that. Hancock smiled, gentle even as he fucked himself on her face, but this was how they were. 

He edged towards the apex of their event horizon, not yet tipping over to oblivion. There was a pervasive buzzing in his ears, and Hancock exhaled shakily, pulling Felicia off his dick and dropping her entirely as his abs clenched in his struggle for control, head rolling back against his shoulders. 

Felicia gazed up at him from the floor, snapped back into focus, undulating her hips upwards and parting her legs, an open invitation for him to take, back pressed up against the frame of the power armor station, running her tongue along her kiss-bruised lips.

"I thought you said we weren't done, big guy?" she asked, voice raspy from the abuse, and Hancock groaned at the sight of her. Half black and blue, ruined for his benefit. "Come and get it. But cut me loose first, for the love of god." 

Hancock snorted, fetching a scalpel from the workbench, and maybe something else from her pack. He sliced the zip ties, dragging his fingers along the red lines, indented from how tight they'd been-- and then tossed her some Jet, holding up an inhaler of his own. "Let's get this party _started_."

"Oh, Hancock," Felicia crooned, taking her first hit with eager aplomb, "you _really_ know how to make a girl happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WE GOT ONE MORE CHAPTER AFTER THIS


	6. i hope to god you're never leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi i use the [](http://www.nexusmods.com/fallout4/mods/209/)

Jet kicked in like a rush to the head, expanded the senses and slowing the world. Hancock moved towards her like he was wading through water, dropping to his knees with a dull, echoing thud. Felicia grinned, lazy and easy, eyes heavy lidded as he threw her legs over his shoulders, bringing her towards his eager mouth. He licked into her like a man starving, lapping at the delicate folds of her cunt, tongue pressing it inside. The ridges of his lips and face scratched against her skin, and Felicia sighed, his touch a benediction. The high started to fade, her limbs slowly turning into something more substantial than jelly. 

"Hancock," she breathed, flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck, over-sensitized from the drugs. With nails dragging across his bare scalp, Felicia gasped, eyes rolling into the back of her head as he sucked on her clit, sliding fingers back inside of her three at a time, spreading them inside her before curling them, the texture of his ghoulish hands against her g-spot sending her into paroxysms of pleasure. "Jesus fucking  _shit,_ that is-- that is really good, I want--" 

Felicia cut herself off, jaw clicking shut as she looked at him imploringly.  _Please. Please hurt me_.

"Ain't in the mood to wait today, are you?" Hancock clucked his tongue, turning his head to bite at the inside of her thigh, blood welling up in his mouth, leaving his mark on her in the memory of teeth against skin. Felicia banged her head on the back of that yellow frame, convulsing from the sharp sting of pain and how it sent her spiraling into pleasant oblivion all over again. He lapped at the blood, and it smeared against his skin, looking halfway to feral, pupils in cloudy eyes blown wide. 

"Never am." She wrapped her legs tighter around his neck, squeezing his neck tight. Felicia gave him a grin that was all shark. "Now  _give me_.  _What. I want_."

Hancock huffed a laugh, and pulled her legs away, grip too tight, sliding them around his waist instead. Felicia wondered how many bruises she'd have this time, hoping to inspect herself later and see them  _everywhere_ , every mark another piece of evidence of his love and devotion. She couldn't love him back but she could consume him in his entirety, swallow him up like a black hole did the light, corruption every one of her touches.

Finally, finally, he satisfied her craving, sliding that thick head into her, driving into her without pausing. Felicia scrabbled to lunge forward, clinging to his neck with one hand, clasped against his rough skin, breathing in the earthy musk that was all  _Hancock_ , rich and so very different from any unmutated human. She dragged her nails down his back in vicious lines, rising up to slam back down on his cock with brutality, fireworks sparking behind her eyelids.

Hancock snarled against her chest, open-mouthed, ducking his head to suck on her breast, at nipples still tender from his biting, eyes locked with Felicia's. In return, she rose up again and set a pace too fast to be comfortable, her grip on him too hard, too sharp, too possessive. 

 _Mine_ , she thought, even as he took her neck in hand one more time, layering new bruises over old,  _he’s mine_ , ensnared in her devil’s trap, a sailor coaxed into the sea by the siren.

She ached from her head to her toes, and Hancock pulled out, roughly flipping her onto her belly in a move that was more of a _throw_  than anything else. Felicia keened, pressing her face to the concrete and raising her ass to present it, knowing exactly the score. And so, he descended on her like a vicious beast, holding her down with a harsh grip at the base of her neck, pinning her to the ground as he slid back in, clinging to her prominent hips. Felicia jolted as her cheek dragged against grime and grit, fingers ineffectually scrabbling for purchase against the ground.

There was no need to plead for  _harder_ , here, in their whirlwind of violence. They were already giving it their all.

Felicia rocked backwards in time with Hancock's thrusts, meeting each one with no pulled punches. He slapped her ass hard enough to do more than just sing, the sharp crack of his hand against skin echoing in the garage. " _Fuck_ ," she swore, reaching down to rub herself again, too exhausted for another orgasm but too eager to refrain, self-indulgent to the last. "That fucking  _hurts_."

"Always good to hear a glowing review from a lady," he grunted, and Felicia didn't hold back a satisfied grin. He was close. Releasing her neck from his hold, Hancock dragged his ragged nails down her scarred back from last time and the time before, and the time before the time before, marked with little white lines against her golden skin. His nails drew blood, and Hancock collected the droplets of red on his fingers, licking them clean with a hunger magnificent. He looked the most beautiful when he was wild.

Times like these made Felicia think of when mentioned turning her ghoul. For the long term, he'd said, and the more time she spent with him, the more she pondered accepting the idea of near-immortality in good company. The things she could  _do_ with infinite time and vitality, the power she could steal and cup in her palms.

Forcefully, Felicia shoved back too hard, knocking Hancock off guard, knocking him back on his ass-- it was his turn for his head to crack against the ground by force. They were the law of equivalent exchange. She whirled and crawled onto his lap, grabbing his cock for herself and pressing it inside her, sinking down on it, pussy clenching around it. Hancock squeezed her thighs, kneading them like a cat as she rolled her hips, knowing just how to move to drive him past the point of return. 

His cock twitched inside her, and she watched his face screw up as he tried so hard to last just a little longer, and the merciful thing to do would be to let her efforts abate.

Too bad for him: Felicia was not merciful in the slightest.

She reached forward to press her thumb against the hollow of his weathered throat, holding down with a single-minded intensity. Her brown eyes glinted with curious intent as Hancock sputtered and choked in her grasp. Her grip held, steadfast even as she fucked herself on his length, pushing him past the point of no return with his blissful asphyxiation.

With shaking limbs and rattling breath, Hancock came, molten lava exploding inside her. She fell forward, not bothering to even pull him out, the fury of their engagement burnt out until it was heated ashes warming the coals. 

"Gets better and better every time," Felicia murmured, nosing against his gnarled cheek, kissing the divots of his skin until she could capture his lips with her own. "Tomorrow is _definitely_ a power armor kind of day."

Hancock snorted, still lazy and boneless, a lazy smile on his face. " _Some_ of us don't have that option, babe, don't rub it in." He reached for the Jet, taking a hit and offering it to her next. "Gonna be a day of Med-X and Psycho for me. Good thing we nabbed that stash off those raiders today. Still don't like it when you fucking steal, but if we're killing them, guess it doesn't matter so much if we're taking their shit before or after their death."

Felicia gently disengaged, flopping down next to him on the ground, using his shoulder as a pillow. She inhaled easily, slipping back into the warm fuzz of a high. "Hey, I offered to find you a set. Not my fault you want to use one that  _hasn't_ been... _re-appropriated_." She grinned, turning to catch his gaze, heart seizing at the way he looked at her. Felicia leaned in for a chaste kiss, her lips still sore from his bites. "But hey, I'll convert you to logical theft soon enough, just you wait." In her voice there was a fondness swelling bright, and she ached to consume his optimism like a creature that devoured dreams, with snapping teeth and slavering jaws.

Petting her hair, Hancock tugged her close, coaxing her into something like sleep. "Yeah, yeah. You're awful sure, but me? I ain't convinced. But for that, we're gonna do a goody two shoes errand tomorrow, I heard bout someone over by some junkyard to the north east."

Felicia hummed in acknowledgement, exhausting creeping up in her veins. "Sure," she said through a yawn, "what'ver you say. Doesn't matter long as 'm with you."

Hancock froze, hand stilling, and she could almost hear the hitching in his chest. "Same to you," he said, not yet used to the words of affection being returned. "I love you, and all that other sappy garbage." 

Felicia's took his shaking hand in hers, twining their fingers together. Smooth to scarred, strong to strong, she held on tight. "You know, just because I don't love doesn't mean I don't _like_ you. I do, and more than that, I  _trust_ you. My life is on the line any number of times in a given day, be it for business or for pleasure. And I know you have my back. You're there, and...like I said. I don't care to do the good thing if it's a sacrifice, but I have been, for you. I know that's not the same, not exactly, but if anything is going to be close enough, in my terms? That's it."

A beat of silence, and then her eyes slid lazily to his. "That, or if I decide to do the immortality schtick and you know, let you keep me company."

Gingerly, Hancock brought their hands up to kiss hers, fingers slipping down to circle around the purple and green bruises around her wrist, squeezing. "Well," he said, "I'll be here, for as long as you want."

Felicia sat up, smug. "I know." 

 _Because you're mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> if anyone was curious, this is what felicia looks like [this](http://i.imgur.com/gQpR6Xw.png) and [here](http://i.imgur.com/kBXkCWz.png) is a better picture of her extensive burn scars. she is half Chinese.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [my tumblr](http://lurks-beneath.me/).
> 
> title & chapter titles from melanie martinez's 'tag you're it' and 'soap'


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